The Spectator
by languidbones
Summary: "It's silly, isn't it? I was silly for him. I think I always will be." The inevitability of Rose and Scorpius, as observed by Lysander Scamander. One-shot.


_I've written a prequel to this fic - **Gravity Is Quiet**. Link in my profile :) Do review if you liked this! I appreciate any feedback._

* * *

 **The Spectator**

I wasn't a stalker. Pinky swear. Though my mum said once that I had a knack for being in the right place at the right time. Maybe all it took for me was a little Firewhiskey and a bit of a conversation. Somehow, people loved to tell me stories, and stories… well, they seemed to happen to me.

It was a dim summer evening in Venice, and I was seated at the bar of La Cantina, a charming _bacaro_ on the Strada Nuova. They had no menu, only a large blackboard introducing an endless list of wines. It was relatively quiet for a Sunday night. Around me, a handful of locals and tourists made merry, faces red and eyes bright from one too many glasses. Venice was home to one of the world's smallest wizarding communities, yet the location held a magic that was all its own.

I'd just come from the wedding of Lily Luna Potter and my brother, Lorcan, a lovely outdoor ceremony held at the San Clemente. Everything about it was beautiful. It began with chaotic spring of Cornish Pixies, later completed by the dramatic arrival of a ring-bearing Hippogriff in a crown of flowers. We had danced until our toes ached. I was the best man, and I was exhausted. A whiskey was in order, but the barman had none of that. He recommended a _Pinot Grigio_ to take the edge off.

Since graduation, I wrote for The Spectator, a wizarding society magazine. It was either this or The Quibbler. Lorcan had always been more talented with magical creatures. I knew I wasn't too cut out for it after getting terrorised by a Doxy when I was nine. So I left that part of the Lovegood-Scamander heritage in Lorcan's good hands. Me, well. I just do what I do best. Be in the right place at the right time.

Lily and Lorcan were slated to be the cover story for my magazine's July issue, and I was the obvious choice to write it. People loved anything Potter and Weasley, and paid good money to read about them. Lily and Lorcan's was a classic wizarding love story—childhood friends, danced the dance, fell in love. I myself had been fond of Lily, but she had always loved Lorcan best, and, well, you can't blame a girl for that.

I was minding my own business, my quill hovering over a crumpled piece of parchment as I considered the start of my story. I picked up my glass for a sip, and looked up to see Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy snogging, right before my eyes.

At first, the whole thing felt rather surreal. They were tucked away in the dark corner, pressed against tall, blurry windows, the street lights casting shadows on their figures. From afar, they painted a perfect picture of secret Venetian lovers. He overwhelmed her, mouth hungry, hands possessive. Rose met him with equal intensity, her fingers fisted into the front of his dress shirt to pull him flush against her. As though they weren't already close enough.

I already knew the drill.

She would fill him to the brim. And he was going to consume her until he had nothing left over.

I set down my quill, took a sip of wine, and watched.

* * *

They were, quite frankly, the greatest story I never written. The sight was a marvel, really. Took me right back to the old school days. Or perhaps the drink was making me sentimental. Yet, if it was about a Weasley and a Malfoy, there were bound to be fireworks. Not necessarily the good kind, but always dazzling to see.

Truth was, people were fascinated by Scorpius and Rose. After all, every magical child grew up reading about the Potters and Weasleys in fairy tales and society pages, and we knew all about the Malfoys from _Hogwarts: A History._ These families were legendary in our eyes. Heck, there were songs about them on the Top 40, even today. I still remember a classic from my childhood, by the rock outfit Mercury Retro, playing on the kitchen radio on Sundays. It was inspired by the birth of Scorpius Malfoy, and went something like this:

 _Babe of gold, born November  
_ _Glimpsed rose red from July  
_ _One kiss, he was hers  
_ _In love, she was first  
_ _Stars cross with a longing sigh—_

Yeah, I'm not sure if it served as some sort of prophecy, since Mercury Retro consisted of two ageing wizards who denounced Divination in an interview once. But they weren't too far off the mark. Rumours would have you believe that Scorpius loved Rose the moment she saw her. Others said his obsession with her was the result of a love potion gone wrong. Of course, we could speculate. That's always fun. Perhaps Scorpius saw a warmth in her that he lacked in himself. Maybe he wanted to annoy his father by pursuing someone whose family undid his own. We could pull out their birth charts, talk a bit about Pluto and Venus in their synastry.

Or, he simply loved her for what she was. At least, that's my favourite theory.

Long story short, they were inevitable. Scorpius and Rose. Rose and Scorpius. Didn't matter how you said it, they were one and the same. They gravitated toward each other. Both supernovas in their own right, and when they collided—what a sight it was. If you were in the way, well. They would shatter us all if it meant they would get to each other.

They had always been friends—Scorpius was friendly with everyone—but the madness began when they were partnered up in a third-year Potions class. Incidentally, they were both excellent at the subject. Both Scorpius and Rose were infinitely curious beings, and Potions provided the perfect playground for their creativity. They genuinely enjoyed concocting the weirdest and wackiest recipes for the fun of it. According to Albus, they often stayed after class, brainstorming for their next brew and challenging each other's limits. They had a wicked chemistry together.

Maybe the seeds of love were planted there, in between five-foot long essays and secretly brewed bouts of Amortentia.

Beyond their joint experiments, they were both naturally competitive with each other. This story was a famous one: they had challenged each other to brew a successful Polyjuice Potion. It was a tedious task for even the best of wizards, so you could imagine the hassle. But both of them hated to lose, so they went right at it.

Somehow, Rose succeeded first, completing a Polyjuice Potion with a lock of hair from Teagan Keefe, one of her dormitory mates. Now, Teagan wasn't exactly the cutest girl in school; she was dowdy, with squinty eyes and a downturned mouth. But Polyjuice Teagan was all Rose, right down to the quirk of her lips. Scorpius wasn't fooled for a minute. The moment she sidled up beside him in the library with a spring in her step and a mischievous little smile that lit up Teagan's usually stodgy features, he knew. He had shot out of his seat and grabbed her, exhilarated at her success.

Then, completely forgetting that he had lost the challenge, he pulled her to him and kissed her for the first time.

After the story got out, Albus said mirthfully that he saw Teagan Keefe staring at Scorpius during Charms class, in a sort of trance as she touched her lips. But it was too late for Teagan Keefe. Scorpius had already made his intentions towards Rose perfectly clear.

* * *

Regarding Scorpius Malfoy, well. He was a stud with a chip in his shoulder. He looked rather like an angel, golden-haired and pristine, at least until you noticed this terrible, devilish glint in his eye. Of course, he was well brought up, which meant the less he liked you, the nicer he was. He excelled in everything in some roundabout attempt to redeem his family name. James told me he was frightfully friendly at first, and tried awfully hard to prove he wasn't some sort of Death Eater. He craved acceptance, all but demanded it. He probably had a grand vision of the life he wanted to have at Hogwarts, vastly different from the one his father carved for himself.

As for Rose Weasley, she's something else. I saw her in the summers my parents visited the Weasleys, before I started at Hogwarts. She wasn't a Victoire, with that Veela blood and model charm. She wasn't Lily, who would prove to be a Queen Bee in my year. Rose, she wasn't eye-catching in a conventional way. Yet she lit up the room, and always managed to put the shine on everything. Being with her for just a few minutes made you like yourself. When she listened to you, she was present, fully aware. She made you feel important. And that was a quality none of the other Weasleys or Potters could claim to have. For this, people loved her.

And Scorpius did, fiercely. Maybe it's because she accepted people so easily for who they were. Lorcan and I, we were always overly ardent about magical creatures, which unnerved a few people. Albus or Hugo often listened to us with a big roll of their eyes. Not Rose; she never begrudged us for it. If anything, she encouraged our hobbies, and seemed to love hearing us talk about Wrackspurts. In that same way, she accepted Scorpius. He was moved by her.

She was the moon, and he, the tides.

Girls like Rose attracted the worst of them, and he truly was the worst of all. Scorpius was crazy about her, and he wasn't afraid to show it. And that became a thing, right: if you dated Scorpius Malfoy, you had to accept this about him. This sickness he had for Rose. It didn't matter what silly promise he made to you in bed, while in the throes of ecstasy. As a boyfriend, he would buy you the world. But he paid you no attention if Rose walked into the room.

He always wanted her first. This was a fact, and it was as sure as sunrise.

It was Rose who knew how to fall in love, wholehearted and true each time. She was a real romantic, of the bright-eyed and hopeful variety. And frankly, she deserved to be. Her heart was unlimited. She was so open and kind that it was impossible to fault her for thinking the rest of the world was, too. With her, boys were like bees to honey. Unlike Scorpius, she preferred long relationships. She never dated someone she wasn't sure about.

Scorpius, on the other hand, dated like a bull in a china shop. One of his ex-girlfriends told me he didn't like to kiss. He thought it was mushy and meaningless, and much preferred a good romp. He would probably kiss you if you asked, but never on his own accord. I suppose he wasn't too sentimental. He was fine in bed (more than fine, according to sources) and the banter was good; he was a natural charmer. The ladies went ga-ga for him real quick. He never had a problem finding a girlfriend.

Yet, watching Rose love others infuriated him. He was always in a jealous rage about who _she_ was kissing, and hated every one of her boyfriends unreservedly. Indeed, a girl's time with Scorpius quite depended on Rose. Whenever she was single, he would be too. One of those odd coincidences that unfortunately became routine.

He always sought her out when she broke up with others. He would hear the news from Albus or somebody, and before you knew it, he'd be running after her like his life depended on it. There was every possibility of stumbling into them in the hallways as I did one night, maybe two. If you were sharp, you'd see them between shadows and moonlight, his body caging hers, willing her to be happy again. Scorpius never begged, but with her he would plead. _Please, please, please. Rose, you know I adore you. Don't cry._ _You're beautiful and he's stupid._ His gentle hands cradling her face, kissing her in the way he refused to with any other girl. He was tender with her, like she was made of precious, lovely things.

This was simply how they were, year in, year out. Loving other people, sleeping with other people, with only eyes for each other. Scorpius, who dated with conditions. And Rose, who loved unconditionally, each and every time. Everyone asked the same questions— _what's the bloody hold up? Why aren't they together, then? Is Rose being stubborn?_

Well, no.

It was _Scorpius_ who was stubborn. Got you there, didn't I?

The thing about being made Prefect—you stumbled into so many lover spats after hours, you simply became numb to them. But Rose and Scorpius were a little different. The school hung on their every word, mainly because they were obviously passionate about each other, and yet remained a mystery. Nobody ever really understood what went on between them. I was doing the rounds with a fellow fourth-year Prefect, Wanda Parkinson, when we heard Rose and Scorpius arguing quietly in an empty classroom. I was going to dock points from Gryffindor and Slytherin, but she hushed me so violently I thought she dislocated her jaw.

We peeked into the room. It was a familiar scene. His forehead rested against hers, his fingers wrapped delicately over her wrists.

"Please," he said—begging again—"We're so good for each other. Just be with me."

Perhaps this was it. The dance would end here, and the society pages would explode tomorrow. We were witnessing history of sorts. Parkinson was clutching my arm so tightly, I was going to bruise the next morning. We held our breaths.

But then Rose shook her head.

"Stop it, Scorpius. You're going to leave, I know it. You told me so."

"Not right now. I'm not going anywhere right now."

"But you're going to. You know I don't do flings. I—"

"What harm is there?" His voice had hardened. "You know I'll make you happy. Even if it's temporary—what difference does it make? You think we'll marry each other, build a life together, make it work against the odds?"

Rose's silence said everything Scorpius needed to know.

"Look here, Rose Weasley. I may like you but I'm not fucking stupid. We'll give it a go till graduation. You'll get a position in the Ministry, marry someone reputable, and we'll never see each other again. Why are you fighting this?" He held her face in his hands. "This is all we have, all I can offer. Don't you understand?"

"You're not even giving this a chance." Rose's voice was quiet. "You're asking me to love you and be alright with the fact that you're going to break me."

"I'm asking you to let me love you until the day I can't."

"Stop." She was pulling away from him, only for him to hold her in place. "Let me go."

"No."

"If you're not serious about me, stop intruding on my life. Stop showing up. Stop holding me like this. Please." She sounded on the verge of tears. "I'm sick of this. You're being unfair."

"Rose. I can't leave you alone." His fingers had curled into her red hair. "Don't you have feelings for me?"

"It doesn't matter." There was a finality to her words. "You're not allowed to love me anymore."

We barely escaped notice as Rose brushed past us, her eyes wet and head down. Scorpius didn't move from his spot; he was staring blankly into space, looking rather like the rug was pulled from under him. Parkinson looked as shell-shocked as he did.

Needless to say, no points were deducted that night.

Whatever it was between them remained tangible, as taut as strings on a harp. There was a gravity that bound them together, forceful and unforgiving. She could run forever and never be out of his reach. The tension sounded romantic until you felt it for yourself. She hurt from it; he was consumed by it. Everyone knew, of course we knew. I would be talking to a friend in the Great Hall and then spot him watching her like a man drunk on love. Seasons changed, but Scorpius refused to.

* * *

In her sixth year, Rose started dating Kirk Vance, and he was everything Rose deserved—committed, smart and good-hearted. From what I heard, he had a crush on Rose for a little over a year, and was over the moon when she agreed to go out with him.

Vance was also a splendid Quidditch Chaser for our Ravenclaw team. People were anticipating the Slytherin-Ravenclaw final that year. I wasn't much into Quidditch, but you couldn't help but be interested when you remembered Scorpius was the Seeker for Slytherin, and deeply competitive for more reason than sport. It turned out to be a good year for us Ravenclaws. We won that match, along with the Quidditch Cup, and Rose was on the pitch to congratulate Vance.

Vance planted one on Rose, right in front of Scorpius. There was a collective intake of breath in the stands as it happened. But Scorpius said nothing, merely turned on his heel and walked away. And that was that.

Rose did seem to really like Vance. He was bookish and sweet, and had a great interest in Muggle literature. I heard he wrote her beautiful letters. They were inseparable, and for months we would watch them go everywhere hand-in-hand—quite the fairy tale, really.

Scorpius and Rose didn't exchange one word since their argument, except that one chilly afternoon in February. An overexcited Carrick Finnigan relayed this anecdote: Rose had been hurrying down the hallway, perhaps on her way to meet Vance, when Scorpius appeared from the opposite direction. _Oh, it was like watching a Quidditch match,_ Finnigan cackled—fifteen-year-olds would use Quidditch as a metaphor for anything, really— _I thought they were going to crash, like someone was going to get hurt._

Instead, as she passed him, Scorpius caught her hand. Rose looked at him over her shoulder, aghast at his daring.

He only held on tighter.

"Rose," he said softly. Pleading again.

 _She looked like she swallowed a fish,_ Finnigan continued, lapping up the reactions as everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed. _And Malfoy, he looked like he was going to kiss her! For real._

But Rose said nothing and pulled her hand from his. The moment slipped away with her. Scorpius watched her go.

Finnigan, for all his theatrics, was spot-on about one thing. Someone did get hurt.

* * *

Without Rose, Scorpius wilted. I suppose he took her previous relationships lightly, maybe because he was convinced she would eventually choose him. To be disallowed to love her—well, I couldn't think of a worse way to reject Scorpius. He still had flings, almost at a dastardly rate, as though to find a way to replace the growing, gaping hole where Rose once was. You must understand that they were best friends for a time, and losing her like this was surely hard on him. His love for her was romantic, but it also encompassed the innocence of friendship, and the chemistry they shared as Potions workmates.

In some ways, I could relate. It was difficult for me, too, when Lily began to show interest in Lorcan.

When Vance proposed to Rose towards the end of seventh year, all hell broke loose. At least, according to Parkinson. Scorpius came undone at the news. At first, he denied it violently, as though he could change reality by the stubborn refusal to accept it. Then he began to break everything in sight, wrecking his dormitory in a careless rage, before finally dissolving into broken, hollow sobs at the foot of his bed. The Slytherins listened to the commotion from the common room, at least until Zabini found the sense to cast a Silencing Charm. Nobody said a word about it, but everyone knew.

 _I feel sorry for him,_ Parkinson said morosely. _Has there ever been anyone else for Scorpius Malfoy?_

No. There had never been; perhaps there never will. I never saw him cry, but on my rounds I glimpsed him in the same empty classroom after hours, slumped in a chair, his head tilted back with his eyes closed. He had loved Rose with everything he had, and now there was nothing left over.

* * *

When Lily and Lorcan became an item in the summer leading into my sixth year, it was Rose who noticed my reticence and understood it.

I dealt with the situation in the exact way that Scorpius Malfoy didn't—by being careful not to damage anything around me. Rose was very kind; she took me aside at the family gathering where Lily and Lorcan were giddily expressing their affections, insisting we silly introverts should stick together. So we spent time on the fringes of Ottery St. Catchpole, lying in the green and staring at the sky.

She was a late bloomer, in the sense that I only just noticed she was quite pretty. While she had always retained a kind of girlishness back in school, there was now womanly sureness in everything she did. Perhaps it was the result of growing up, but there was less of a twinkle in her eye now. Rather, she retained a gentle and steady gaze. The beauty of her cousins overshadowed hers at first glance, that was for sure—yet, upon spending time with Rose, you found the little things about her to be exquisite. When she took my hand and led me away from the boisterous chatter of the Potter-Weasley reunion, I understood to my very heart why Scorpius loved her.

I only found out she had broken her year-long engagement from the society pages of The Daily Prophet. I had asked Lorcan about it, wondering if Lily mentioned it to him, but all he said was that the decision was mutual. In many ways, Rose denied the expectations made of her. Rather than work at the Ministry, she opted for a career in Potions, becoming one of the youngest witches to pursue the trek. Potioneers were never in one place at a time. They travelled often, working closely with Alchemists and Herbologists to unravel and enhance plant uses, visiting Apothecaries to research niche ingredients, and consulting with Healers to understand developing ailments across the magical world. It was a lonely career, and wasn't a traditional route for anyone who wanted to start a family. Despite her talent in the subject, it was a hard decision to grasp when you considered Rose's subdued and romantic nature.

Yet, she seemed perfectly content on this summer's day, her red hair falling past her shoulders as the breeze flittered through the strands. She was watching me thoughtfully, worrying her lower lip the way she often did when she was thinking.

"Lysander," she began tentatively, "how do you manage it?"

"Manage what?"

"Seeing Lorcan and Lily together." Just the mention of their names made my chest feel heavy. "I've noticed for some time."

I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. I found it difficult to process my emotions, even if these intangible aches were far easier for me to accept in others. When I didn't respond, she smiled, somewhat sadly, and looked back at the sky.

"It must be difficult," she said. "You're a lovely person. Who she chooses to love doesn't change that."

"She's lucky to have Lorcan," I said, and somehow I did believe that the more I said this, the easier it would all become. "My brother's a fine lad. I'm happy for them."

Rose watched me, a strange light in her blue eyes as she hugged her knees to her chest. At times like this, I wished Rose didn't pay so much attention to people. It made me feel like she saw the truth behind everything I said, as though the words themselves were merely decorative. She reached out and curled her fingers into mine, and I felt the heaviness in my chest crawl into my throat and threaten to pinch my eyes. I swallowed, hard.

Soon, the awful feeling subsided, and I returned to myself. "I'm sorry, Rose."

"What for?"

"You broke your engagement. I just found out a few days ago."

"Oh. Don't be sorry." She offered me a brief smile; it was her turn to shrug. "I suppose we drifted apart. I'm travelling too much now—my job, you know—and he wasn't very happy about it. We agreed it was for the best."

I nodded, cautiously considering what she said. "I did wonder. Why you picked a career that uprooted you like that when you had plans to settle down."

Rose's cheeks reddened at my observation, and for a moment looked like a guilty child caught with her hand in the biscuit tin.

"Maybe I took the job because I wasn't sure," she admitted haltingly. "About marrying him, I mean."

"It's not because of Scorpius Malfoy, is it?"

"Was I that obvious?" she asked softly.

"You both were rather obvious about each other." I paused, deciding whether or not to tell her. "Everyone in school knew."

"Merlin," she murmured, the heat staying in her cheeks. She ducked her head, embarrassed. "It makes you wonder why Kirk even tried."

"Because you're a lovely person," I said, repeating her words. "And who you choose to love doesn't change that."

Rose smiled before looking at me with rueful eyes.

"I thought I had my life figured out, Lysander," she said, her voice quiet. "Since I was little, my parents always told me I could become anything I wanted, even if it was at the Ministry. I'd have a long, successful career, marry a decent man, make a lovely home, and have a bunch of cute kids if that was the plan. I thought this was the way it should be. But then I met Scorpius. From then on, whenever I had a boyfriend, it was his voice I heard in my head. He said the very same thing my parents did. That I could become anything I wanted, have a respectable career, then marry a safe, decent man. And that man would be nothing like him." Her lips quirked at the memory. "And for awhile, I agreed. He was absurd. All that intelligence, but he couldn't be reasoned with. It's part of what made him so brilliant at Potions—we were workmates for a time. He was reckless and I was game. I loved every experiment. You'd laugh if you saw the number of pointless recipes we tried to brew. Several books' worth." She looked lost in her thoughts now. "I knew every step of a brew from back to front, but Scorpius—he picked ingredients out of a hat. He operated on sheer instinct."

"And he loved you the same way."

"Yes." She said it as though she couldn't quite believe it herself. "And the less sense he made, the more I adored him. It's silly, isn't it? I was silly for him. I think I always will be."

Despite her agency, the belief that she knew what she wanted and what she was doing, Rose was chasing ghosts where she stood. Maybe that ghost was not a marriage, a last name, or even a home—but a person. And her feelings for him frightened her. The way she dreamed of him, wide-awake and wistful, told me all I needed to know. Maybe she would one day find him only to have him disappear, the way he told her he would. But this was, after all, a girl who only understood how to love unconditionally. And I knew Rose. She never gave up on someone she was sure about.

This time, I was the one to take her hand.

* * *

After graduation, I was recruited to write for The Spectator. My connections to the Potters and Weasleys meant work came hard and fast.

One of my first assignments was to cover the Granger-Macmillan Foundation Gala, a charity ball aimed at strengthening Pureblood-Muggle ties. The event promoted acceptance of Muggles among the Purebloods, and evenings like this one usually saw family representatives of what Cantankerous Nott once named the _Sacred 28_ , the only remaining twenty-eight Pureblood families in Britain. Muggle royalty and government officials were also present. As for me, I was on the lookout for glamorous pictures and quotable quotes as high society of both Muggle and magic varieties attempted to mingle.

At the food table, I bumped into Wanda Parkinson, who was representing her family at the event. She was dry-humoured as always, and most unenthusiastic about the proceedings. She danced with me for a bit, commenting on my dark eye bags and trying not to laugh at my decorative orca shaman necklace. I had to explain that the necklace was ancient magic, charmed to protect me from Doxys—terrifying creatures, even by my standards.

As for the eye bags, well. I was having nightmares about the aforementioned Doxys. Probably triggered by the stress of starting this new job.

She rolled her eyes at my detailed account. Over her shoulder, I noticed a flash of white-blond. It was Scorpius Malfoy, talking amicably to a beautiful Muggle woman. It was surprising to see him; he had fallen off the society pages of most magazines since his graduation. Instead, he limited his social appearances, and seemed to prefer keeping a low profile, much like his father.

Parkinson followed my gaze, looking surprised herself.

"Isn't that Malfoy?" she said in wonder. "I haven't seen him around for almost two years, though it makes sense he would represent his family… can you imagine Draco Malfoy turning up at an event hosted by Hermione Granger-Weasley? Would be bloody awkward, that. Anyway, Nott told me that he's opened an apothecary in Florence. Living the simple life, I suppose." She lowered her voice. "Do you think he's here to look for Rose Weasley?"

An apothecary in Florence. Somehow, I had never envisioned the bright, charismatic Scorpius Malfoy limiting himself to a storehouse in the quiet countryside. Of course, the Malfoys were independently rich; Scorpius could possibly go his whole life without a pay cheque. However, like Rose, he was an avid thinker, and thrived on invention. Merely living on gold would have bored him to tears.

Yet, being a child of what many considered war traitors—even though the Malfoys were never charged—Scorpius had probably anticipated a certain degree of social rejection within the British wizarding society, and almost certainly a lack of career options. Perhaps this was what he was alluding to, in that classroom a few years ago.

His was not a reputable family to marry into, and Rose deserved a life free of stigma.

After a chatty bout of speculation—I was too lost in thought, so she talked mainly to herself—Parkinson left me to speak to a Duke. I continued on my rounds, collecting quotes and pictures. Hermione Granger-Weasley was making a speech when Scorpius knocked elbows with me, a wineglass in hand. "Scamander," he said in greeting.

"Malfoy," I said, rather startled that he knew who I was. We never exchanged more than two words back in school. He was taller than I remembered, or maybe it was because I never stood so close to him before. He looked distinguished in his dress robes, elegantly trimmed with shades of pine green. Most witches would find him very handsome indeed. I raised my camera. "I'm with The Spectator. Do you mind if…"

"Oh, no, go ahead." He smiled graciously for the flash.

The following silence was awkward. Then—

"Sorry," Scorpius said. "I'm not sure which one you are."

"Lysander."

"Ah, so it's your brother who's getting hitched. Heard about it just a moment ago."

"Oh—right. The wedding is later this month."

As we made small talk, I found the air about him to be different from what I remembered in school. Like Rose, it seemed as though he had done some growing up. Now, he held a certain dignity and reservation in his demeanor that was missing before; it was as though he had abandoned his famously hotheaded intensity in favour of this elegant armour. I noticed his eyes trail towards Hermione Granger-Weasley, who had just ended her speech and was now talking to a tall, willowy redhead—

Dominique Weasley, as it turned out.

Scorpius turned his gaze back to his wineglass, his eyes downcast.

"She's in Prague at the moment," I said, a little too quickly. "I mean, Rose."

He looked at me, grey eyes deceptively cool. "Really."

"Yeah. She's a potioneer. She's on a tour of the herbariums there."

"Rose Weasley? A potioneer?" There was a hint of genuine surprise in his voice. "What happened to that stable Ministry career she wanted so much?"

"She did shock a few people." I looked at Scorpius, nonplussed. Did he really have no clue, or was he being obtuse on purpose? "It was a rather big deal on the news."

"I don't read much of the local news," Scorpius admitted. "I'm based in Florence now, and I only return when I have to."

"So you don't know about her engagement?"

Scorpius was staring at me like I was speaking Greek.

"She broke it off with Kirk Vance last summer."

The words seemed to bounce right off him. "Right," he said faintly. "…Why is that, may I ask?"

I shrugged then, picking up a cocktail from a floating tray. "Maybe you should ask her yourself."

Scorpius set down his wineglass, looking somewhat winded. "Maybe I will."

Just then, the attractive Muggle woman I saw speaking to Scorpius earlier that evening appeared on his other side. She had an oddly hopeful look in her eyes as she caught Scorpius' arm. "Mr Malfoy," she said breathlessly, "I must say, I enjoyed our little conversation about the limits of magical law—"

"As did I," Scorpius said distractedly, flashing her a rehearsed smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

Impulsively, I called out, "Lorcan and Lily's wedding. It'll be in Venice, at the San Clemente."

Scorpius disappeared into the crowd; I wasn't sure if he heard me. The woman beside me looked deflated at his sudden exit. I offered her my cocktail.

* * *

I'm sorry—I couldn't possibly tell you where they met in Venice.

When I slipped away from the wedding for a breather, perhaps Rose did the same. Weddings could prove too much for quieter souls, and it sounded just like her to step away from the fray and toe along the fringes. After all, Venice laid open at her feet, a city of love worth exploring. And Rose was in love, desperately so. The days were long in summer, and I could picture her strolling along St. Mark's Square, the beauty in her surroundings providing a theatre for her thoughts. But none of us were privy to the crucial moment Rose and Scorpius set eyes on each other in this strange place, so far away from home. Rose, who dreamed of Scorpius every waking moment, and Scorpius, who didn't allow himself to dream of seeing her again.

I could only guess where he must have found her. Yet, I didn't question that he somehow would.

I sat here in the La Cantina, my glass almost empty, and my heart full. Perhaps any person's heartbreak could be remedied by the most tender of scenes, one just like this. Scorpius was still kissing her, and I believed he would forever if time allowed him. Once possessive, now gentle; he held her in his arms with that familiar tenderness from their nighttime meetings those few years ago. Rose's eyes were closed, as though dreaming, blushing against his touch. I had to look away when they locked themselves into an embrace, her smile pressed into his shoulder.

In this mad world, their place was with each other.

They pulled away then, silly smiles on their faces. He took her hand, and they emerged into the bar area where I was seated. Rose started slightly when she saw me, with a quill in one hand and wineglass in the other. "Lysander," she squeaked. I had to smile; Scorpius tried to hide his.

I thought Rose looked lovely. She still had flowers in her hair from the wedding. Her cheeks were faintly pink, her lips still red from Scorpius' kisses.

Scorpius—well. He looked handsome as always, and more smitten than I'd ever seen him. He finally looked away from Rose, meeting my eyes with a nod. "Scamander."

"Fancy seeing you here," Rose continued brightly, as though she hadn't just kissed Scorpius Malfoy in a dark corner of a bar somewhere in Venice. Her easy manner had returned, and she beamed at me. "Mrs Scamander told me the Cornish Pixies were your idea, at the start of the wedding? I thought that was a brilliant touch."

"Thanks," I said. "I enjoyed myself. But then your dad got drunk and took over the podium with those really odd dance moves…"

"Gosh, that was a real scene," Rose said, cringing a little. "Poor Uncle Harry, I don't think he meant for the party to get so out of hand. Then Lily popped open the Dragon Barrel Brandy and Teddy and James took off their shirts, and at that point—"

"—I had to get out," we both said at the same time. She laughed, and I grinned at her.

Scorpius cleared his throat then. "Well, it's nice to see you, Scamander."

I kept a straight face. "On holiday, Malfoy?"

"I live in Florence, which is just a fireplace away," he said, without skipping a beat. "Thought I'd pop by for the weekend."

"Ah. And where are you going?"

"On a date." Rose spoke so unexpectedly that we almost missed her words. Both Scorpius and I turned to her in surprise. "We're going for a walk at the piazza." Her cheeks were scarlet now, and she couldn't quite meet Scorpius' eyes.

Scorpius was staring at her with a sort of wonder. Then, in a daze, he said, "Yeah."

Rose reached forward and hugged me. "It really was wonderful to see you, Lysander."

As she headed for the door, Scorpius gestured to my almost empty wineglass and pressed some Muggle money into my hand. "That's on me," he whispered, before catching up to Rose.

I watched him throw his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close. She smiled up at him, and he leaned in to plant a delicate kiss in her hair as they disappeared into the evening.

I signalled the barman. "Another, please." My quill hovered over the crumpled piece of parchment. I picked up my glass for a final sip, and began to write.


End file.
